


Intent and Circumstance

by Vanata37



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Secret Relationship During Hogwarts, Self-Harm, Swearing, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanata37/pseuds/Vanata37
Summary: Hermione is the last to testify during Draco’s trial. He was looking at a maximum sentence of ten years in Azkaban, and based on how he looked right then, ten years was sure to do him in. She couldn’t be the cause of that. She wouldn’t be.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for choosing for my story to read! I’m a new writer, so any helpful criticism is appreciated. Please be sure to check tags.

“So, this is it then,” said Harry Potter to one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. “This is the last day of testimonies for Malfoy’s trial, unless your’s runs long.” They were riding the lift in the Ministry of Magic, down to the tenth level. Hermione wore her brand new formal robes and dressiest shoes, even though the heel was a little too high for her liking. Hermione was never fond of shopping, so she turned to her best girl friend Ginny Weasley. Ginny had helped her pick out a classy, royal blue dress, reminding Hermione of the dresses she had seen on those courtroom drama television shows her mother used to watch. It was perfect for the occasion.

The war had ended just under six months ago. Most of Voldemort’s allies had been arrested (a few were still in hiding), and trials were slowly underway. Hermione had given written attestations to the Chief Warlock for each and every person’s trial. It was to avoid having to restate her perspective of events every week or so. It was a nightmare just to write them all down. She, of course, sat in on all of the trials, but it was better for her not to have to speak. However, she had chosen to speak for two trials: Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco. Harry had asked her to speak on behalf of Mrs. Malfoy, and she agreed, especially after Harry told her what she had done for him. Hermione would have testified on behalf of Narcissa regardless, but Harry didn’t need to know that. As for Draco Malfoy, Hermione had her own reasons. When anyone questioned her about it, she always responded the same, “I want justice to be served.” Ronald Weasley thought she meant what he meant when he said that phrase, and she didn’t bother to correct him.

“Well, here’s hoping,” she responded. “I don’t think I could handle another day of this. By the way, it might be a little difficult to hear some of it. Just warning you now, Harry.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, giving Hermione a puzzled look.

“Just that, I don’t think people know him as well as they think they do. We’ll see though. Hopefully it’ll all go smoothly.” This would be the fourth day of testimonies for Draco Malfoy’s trial. It had been a long week for Hermione, having to listen everyone’s different perspectives of the same events over and over again. George Weasley was giving his testimony first thing in the morning, and Hermione was to give her testimony right after that. George had told her earlier in the week that his testimony was fairly short, given that he didn’t have too many direct interactions with Malfoy. Hermione was hoping this would give her more time in the day. She would be the last to speak on Draco’s behalf. Her testimony would be the one in the forefront of everyone’s mind when sentencing him, not to add to her growing nerves. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear as the lift opened up.

Harry and Hermione walked up to the courtroom doors, gave their wands to the guarding Auror, and proceeded into the room. Hermione let her eyes wonder across the fifty members of Wizengamot, including Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. She kept the poise and grace that would make even Narcissa Malfoy envious, not wanting the Wizengamot to have any reason to undermine her testimony. Hermione found it ironic that she was trying to emulate Mrs. Malfoy, when she was there specifically to testify on behalf of her son. Narcissa’s trial had been a few weeks prior. She had been sentenced to six months house arrest and had not been able to make it to Draco’s trial.

Hermione’s eyes lingered over the witness booth as they walked, seeing the thirteen other people who had testified during Draco’s trial so far: Ron, Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, to name a few. Professor McGonagall was even in the back row, as she had testified on the first day with Harry. Of course, not everyone had testified on Draco’s behalf, but more so to say their piece. Hermione walked up the stairs to her seat, next to Ron, with a little help from Harry’s arm to avoid tripping on her heels. Harry took the seat to her right. As she sat down, she looked over the defendant. She had avoided looking at him all week, knowing full well her poise would falter the second their eyes connected. However, she didn’t want her first look at him to be while she was sitting in the witness chair. She forced herself to look.

Draco was seated, facing the Wizengamot slightly, in such a way that he couldn’t see Hermione from his perceptive, which was a blessing for her. He looked sickly and haggard. His face was sunken in, looking worse than he did in sixth year, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks. Maybe he hadn’t. Those 173 days in Azkaban looked like they had done a number on him (and yes, she was counting). She thought back to those first few weeks after his arrest. In between rebuilding Hogwarts and mourning the dead, she tried to get visitation rights granted for him and his mother. She submitted so many requests, refilled out forms, and even changed the wording on some of them to see if it made any difference. It hadn’t. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement denied every single one of them, stating Death Eaters were not to be given visitation rights; blanket statement, end of discussion. She tried arguing that Mrs. Malfoy wasn’t a Death Eater, but they didn’t want to hear that either. Hermione had meeting upon meeting with different members of Wizengamot, a few even with Kingsley, but that got her nowhere. She had tried submitting requests to allow mail and posts to be delivered to them, but those requests were rejected too. She had kept that all under wraps, of course, and requests such as those were considered confidential, so no one except the select few knew she had made them.

In those 173 days, she worked so hard, done so much research, on helping him keep his sanity and getting him out of that hellhole, even if he would never hear a word of it. She had worked so many sleepless nights on her testimony for him. This was it, hopefully the final day. He couldn’t spend one more day in that place. He was looking at a maximum sentence of ten years in Azkaban, and based on how he looked right then, ten years was sure to do him in. She couldn’t be the cause of that. She wouldn’t be.

“Ready for this?” Hermione heard Ron whisper to her. She nodded slightly, glancing at him, keeping her face neutral. She felt ready. Ready to testify. Ready to admit everything she knew. Ready to do anything she could to protect Draco, just like he had promised her, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“To start the day, we will hear from Mr. George Weasley,” said one of the Interrogators of the day. George walked down to the witness chair, sat down, and began his testimony. Like he promised to Hermione, his testimony was fairly short. The Interrogators only asked a handful of questions, which he had answered briefly. After about thirty minutes, he returned to his seat behind her and squeezed her shoulder for comfort. If Hermione had an older brother, she would’ve wanted someone like any of the Weasley boys.

“We will now hear our final testimony, from Ms. Hermione Granger.” Hermione felt Ron’s hand squeeze her left knee and Harry softly pat her right hand. The butterflies in her stomach started to flutter. She smiled at both of them for their support, before standing from her seat in the witness booth. She walked toward the center of the courtroom, reminding herself to keep the poise and grace she had at the start of the day. Keeping her head high, Hermione sat down in the chair George had just occupied, finally facing the Members of Wizengamot, with Draco on her left, just within her peripheral view. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands on her lap, trying to relax in such a tense situation.

“Thank you for testifying today, Ms Granger,” said the Interrogator who had called her down. Interrogator Chambers had been the one doing most of the questioning throughout Draco’s trial. He was a thin, brazen man, who reminded Hermione of every villain in every cartoon movie she could think of. Given the purple robes he was wearing, she wouldn’t be surprised if green smoke started arising from underneath his seat. He was sitting in a way that made her think he was going to make her time on the stand very difficult, as if he were going to test her on material she hadn’t had time to study. Hermione took a breath, sticking out her chest ever so slightly, to appear a little taller in her sitting position.

“Thank you for allowing me to testify, Interrogator Chambers, Members of Wizengamot,” Hermione said, as she turned her head and nodded, once to the right and once to the left, acknowledging the room. She silently reminded herself that, as important as the previous testimonies were, hers was just as (if not, more) important, just as valuable, to his sentencing, especially since she was the last to say her piece. _Don’t let them undermine you_ , she thought to herself.

“Now, Ms. Granger, how do you know the defendant, Mr. Draco Malfoy?” Interrogator Chambers said conversationally. His hands were folded in his lap, his head slightly tilted to the left, as if they were having a chat over a pot of tea and biscuits.

“From school. We were in the same graduating class at Hogwarts.” She kept her voice even and steady, her eyes forward.

“Ah. And how well would you say you know Mr. Malfoy?” Chambers tilted his head slightly to the right. It no longer felt like they were having tea, and more like she was in Professor Snape’s office, ready to be caught in a lie.

“Fairly well, I’d say.” He wouldn’t catch her in a lie though, not today of all days; this was far too important.

“Fairly well?” Interrogator Chambers repeated.

“That’s what I said,” she responded. It was getting more and more difficult for Hermione to keep her poise. She uncrossed and recrossed her ankles, feeling fidgety all of a sudden.

“Fairly well...” Hermione caught sight of a slight smirk upon his lips, reminding her more and more of the late Severus Snape by the second. “Fairly well... Fairly—”

“Objection! Badgering the witness!” Hermione heard her own voice say, but still not quite sure it had come out of her own mouth. She saw the Interrogator’s smirk deepen. The courtroom went even quieter than it had before, if that were possible, and Hermione felt everyone in the room staring at her. She chanced a brief look at Draco, who was looking down at his feet, smiling slightly. She knew if circumstances were different he would’ve said something teasingly ( _How long have you lived in the Wizarding World? Old habits die hard, huh, Granger?_ ). Hermione instantly knew she had said the wrong thing, even though it felt like the right thing at the time. Chambers was badgering her, after all.

“Ms. Granger.” Minister Shacklebolt’s voice was easily distinguishable, and Hermione felt her heart drop. She turned her head toward him; he was leaning forward so that she could see him more clearly. “Ms. Granger, please do remember that you are in a Wizengamot courtroom, and not a Muggle one.”

“Yes, Minister,” Hermione responded. She could hear quiet chuckling surrounding her, which she ignored. She pushed her hair behind her ear again, avoiding the nervous habit of biting her nails that she was still trying to kick.

“Thank you. Interrogator Chambers, you can continue your questioning,” Shacklebolt stated and leaned back into his seat. Hermione turned her eyes back toward the Interrogator, taking another breath to calm her racing heart.

“Thank you, Minister. Now, Ms Granger,” Chambers continued, still smirking at her, “you say that you know Mr. Malfoy ‘fairly well’. Would you care to elaborate?”

“You want me to elaborate on how well I know Draco Malfoy?” Hermione watched Chambers nod his head, his hands still folded neatly in his lap and the same smirk still on his face. She could feel Draco’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. Her heart was already beating faster than it should; she didn’t need another reason for it. She kept her eyes on Interrogator Chambers. Hermione took another breath and began her answer.

“How well do I know Draco Malfoy? Well, I know his middle name is Lucius, after his father. I know his birthday is the 5th of June. I know his favorite color is silver. I know he loves pumpkin juice but hates pumpkin pancakes, unless you make them without nutmeg. I know his favorite Quidditch team is the Appleby Arrows. I know his favorite subject at Hogwarts was Ancient Runes, and he hated Potions, even though he excelled greatly at it. He told me once it was because he didn’t want to end up like Severus Snape, though I’m not sure potions was the reason for that statement. I know he has seventeen scars, in various directions and lengths, across his torso, and five across his back, from when he was struck by the Sectumsempra Curse, performed by Harry Potter in our sixth year. I know he has the Dark Mark imprinted on his left forearm, and he’s the youngest wizard in history to receive the honor.” Hermione heard a sharp breath in, as if someone had been stung, but she kept her eyes forward and continued. “I also know, if you look closely enough, you will see many, thin scars, going through it. Mr. Malfoy had the brilliant idea that if he could cut it out, it wouldn’t burn anymore. He was wrong, of course, and almost bled to death twice our sixth year. I don’t think many people knew that though. Is that enough Interrogator Chambers, or would you like me to elaborate more on how well I know Mr. Malfoy?”

Hermione could hear whispers coming from the witness booth. She could just make out some of it, as Ron was never very good at whispering (“She’s brilliant. It’s no wonder she knew all that stuff.”). She had told Harry some of this might be hard to hear. They had barely gotten their feet wet in her testimony. It was going to be a long day, first interrogated by the Wizengamot and then interrogated again by Harry and Ron.

“No, no. that’s quite enough, Ms. Granger.” Chambers rose his hand at her, slightly shaking it, stopping her from continuing. He had lost his smirk, looking as if he were contemplating what she had said. Hermione kept a calm face, feeling like she had won the battle. “Now, Ms. Granger, let’s start at the beginning and go back to your first year. What was your first impression of Mr. Malfoy?”

“First impression?” Hermione was actually surprised by the question. She had prepared for this day, but first impressions? She didn’t think those mattered too much, since your impression of someone can change drastically from one minute to the next. She didn’t skip a beat though. “He was the perfect gentleman,” as she began to recount her first interactions with Draco.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every of other chapter, Hermione will be telling the court of her memories of Hogwarts. I didn’t like the idea of her just talking the whole time, so I wrote them up like drabbles.

Eleven-year-old Hermione Granger was walking down the aisle of the passenger carriage of the Hogwarts Express. Neville, a very quiet boy with kind eyes, had asked her for help in finding his lost toad. She had already been in a handful of compartments, with no luck and no one eager to help her. She reached the next compartment and pulled the door open. Hermione glanced at the floor for the toad, before looking at the sole boy who occupied the compartment. He was a blond boy, sitting next to the window, reading a book, already dressed in his school robes, just like she was. In fact, he looked just like she had, in her own compartment, before Neville had come in and asked her for help. He looked up from his book, and they made eye contact.

“Hello,” Hermione said kindly, staying in the doorway to avoid appearing overbearing, “My name’s Hermione Granger. I don’t supposed you could help me.” It had been quite difficult to make friends in the first few hours of being on the train. She didn’t want to seem too bothersome, which everyone so far had seemed to think of her.

“I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy,” said the boy, eyeing her suspiciously. “Granger? Are you related to Hector Dagworth-Granger? The potioneer?” It seemed like such a strange question to ask someone you had just met, but Hermione didn’t want to ask.

“Maybe,” she responded, not wanting to say the wrong thing to a potential friend. “His name doesn’t sound familiar, but I could find out and let you know?” Draco seemed satisfied with her answer and nodded, his face relaxing. “Anyway, I’m looking for a toad. A boy named Neville has lost one. Have you seen it around?”

“No, I haven’t,” Draco said, “but the Longbottoms are known for losing things. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.” He sounded cryptic, as if “losing things” meant something entirely different from the context. Still, he gave her a soft smile that she reciprocated. “My friends have gone to look for the food trolley, not sure how long they’ll be gone. Feel free to have a seat, if you’d like.” Draco closed his book and gestured to the seat across from him, with an open invitation.

“I should be helping Neville, but I suppose I do have a few minutes,” she said, as she closed the compartment door and took a seat next to the window, mirroring the boy. “What are you reading?” They fell into an easy conversation about Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. The few minutes Hermione thought she had had turned into well over half an hour.

“There’s a theory that Muggleborns don’t actually exist. The theory is all people who are deemed Muggleborn are actually just from generations of squibs, and you can date every single person’s lineage back to witches and wizards. That’s all in Chapter 12,” Hermione said confidently, having read the book cover-to-cover twice over the summer.

“Hm,” said Draco, not quite convinced, gazing out the window, “I suppose that might be true. I never thought of it like that. I’ll have to ask my father.”

“Like the book says, it’s just a theory. There’s no proof of it yet,” Hermione said, reading his body language. She looked down at her shoes, losing her confidence. “I’m sorry. Did I say the wrong thing? People don’t seem to like that I’m smart. I heard someone call me a know-it-all earlier.” She didn’t want to upset her new friend, especially after such a great conversation.

“Remember Granger. ‘Care about what other people think and you’ll always be their prisoner.’ Don’t let them get to you,” said Draco. Hermione looked up, and he gave her an encouraging smile. She knew he was quoting Lao Tzu and made a note to look up if he had been a wizard. She smiled back at him, having a good feeling about the boy sitting across from her.

All of a sudden, the compartment door swung open. Two large boys, with their arms filled with sweets, came staggering into the compartment.

“Draco, we got some sweets for you,” said the taller one of the large boys, as he dropped his armload of snacks onto the seat beside Hermione. He looked at her and sneeringly said, “Who are you?” Hermione instantly felt uncomfortable.

“Oh—“ Draco had started, slightly blushing. Hermione wasn’t sure if he was going to introduce her or come up with an excuse as to why she was there. She didn’t want to find out either way and interrupted him.

“I was just leaving,” she said, as she shot up from her seat and the shorter boy dropped his armload of sweets onto the seat beside Draco. “I need to help Neville find his toad. If you see it, could you let me know?” She asked the room, as she started for the doorway. She didn’t wait for a response. Right outside the compartment door, she was still able to hear the boys’ conversation inside.

“Who was that?” said a new voice, who must have been the shorter of the two boys.

“Just a girl,” Hermione heard Draco say. Her eyes were becoming blurry with tears, more out of embarrassment than sadness, as she walked back to her own compartment. Just a girl, indeed.

————

Hermione was silently crying, in the back of library, while trying to read. “She’s a nightmare, honestly. It’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends,” repeated over and over in her head. It was no secret that she was the know-it-all, braggart, windbag, perfectionist, and every other name in the book. At first, she thought everyone who grew up in the Wizarding World was one step ahead of her, intellectually; she had honestly just been trying to keep up with everyone else. She had to work extra hard at it, and apparently it was socially backfiring. Maybe Draco was right when he mentioned certain witches and wizards were of the “wrong sort”. She hoped he didn’t mean her when he said that, but she didn’t want to ask, afraid of the answer. Hermione shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the negativity.

She had been researching Hector Dagworth-Granger every day since Draco had mentioned him on the train. She also sent her parents a letter, asking if they knew anything about him. So far she hadn’t had any leads linking her to the potioneer. It seemed important to Draco though, even though he had only mentioned it the one time. He was the closet thing she had to a friend currently, through the brief conversations and study sessions she had with him in the back of the library.

“Alright there, Granger?” asked the very boy who Hermione was thinking of at the moment. His voice was quiet, as if he would’ve been quiet regardless if they had been in the library. He put a few books down on the table at which she was sitting and started shuffling through them, not looking at her.

“I suppose I’m feeling a little better than this morning...Hey, Draco?” She watched him raise his eyes and look at her, with his head still down. “How important is it that I’m related to that Hector Dagworth-Granger?” Draco shut the book he had been looking at and stood tall, resting his hands on the table. “It’s just that I can’t find anyone I’m related to in the Wizarding World. I asked my parents, and they didn’t have any idea either. I’m starting to think Waffling’s Muggleborn theory isn’t right after all. I just wasn’t sure how important it was to you.” Hermione looked down at the book she had been looking through, to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Well, it doesn’t matter to me too much. It would matter a great deal to my father though.” Draco paused, taking in the scene of the girl with glassy eyes, the girl who was beating everyone in their class intellectually, the girl who strived to be best and was succeeding. “I don’t think I’d be able to be friends with you after this year, if you’re Muggleborn, if I’m being honest. Not that I don’t want to be. It’s just the way it is.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked, confused, looking up at him again. “Why does it matter so much? I’ve been studying so hard, so that people don’t think I’m any less than they are. You’re telling me it’s all for naught?”

“Like I said, Granger,” Draco said, trying to backtrack his words, “it doesn’t matter to me. My father...Well, he just wouldn’t want me to be friends with you because of your blood status. I come from a long line of purebloods; my family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And you...Well, it just wouldn’t work out, being friends. Waffling has his theories of how Muggleborns come to be and my father...Well, my father has his.” Hermione didn’t ask what Draco meant, and her eyes started to water again. Along with an already horrible day, she was losing the one person she thought she had as a friend. 

“Granger, listen, how about this?” Draco continued, seeing the tears starting to form in her eyes. He glanced around the library, as if looking for spectators, and turned his eyes back to her. “How about we can still be friends, but we just don’t let anyone know about it?”

“What..what do you mean?” asked Hermione, hiccoughing slightly from all the crying she had done that day.

“Well, I can be your friend just so long as my father doesn’t know about it. If people of this school find out I’m friends with you, it is sure to get back to my father. So we can exchange notes, meet in secret, that sort of thing. We can still be friends, and my father would be none the wiser. Does that sound like a good plan?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds like a good plan.” Hermione nodded and began wiping the tears from her eyes. Draco pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her, which she took gratefully. He did sound sincere to Hermione’s ears, as if he really did want to be her friend, as if it wasn’t just one big ploy for her homework answers or to get into her good graces. She wanted someone in this school to like her, and she thought back to their previous conversations over the past couple months. He did seem to be a good friend.

“Okay, great,” Draco replied. “Just remember that I might ignore you or be rude. We have to put on a good act. I’m still on your side though. And I’ll send you a letter, apologizing, every single time, okay?”

Hermione wasn’t sure what Draco meant by sides at that moment, and she wasn’t sure how this was all going to work out. Still, it felt good to finally have someone, someone to confide in, someone to match intellectually, someone who understood her. She nodded, smiling for the first time in the past month.


	3. Chapter 3

“Like I said,” Hermione said, after finishing up her story of their first year, “Draco was a perfect gentleman. He kept his promises. We became fast friends, and he sent a letter of apology each and every time he said something cruel. He even sent me a package of sugar quills a handful of times, for a few remarkable nasty comments throughout the years. He never apologized for anything said about my friends though. He was never particularly fond of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, which you’ve already heard. I still have every single one of those letters, the apologies and other notes, in a keepsake box, if anyone needs to see them.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Ms. Granger. Though, thank you for offering,” said a different Interrogator than the one who had been questioning her so far. Hermione couldn’t remember her name, but she was a kind witch, who spoke softly but in such a way that still commanded the room. Hermione figured she was probably trying to cut off Interrogator Chambers before he said something vicious. She nodded her head to the Interrogator with a smile.

“Alright, let’s get back to the subject,” Interrogator Chambers snapped. “What were some of the things Mr. Malfoy apologized to you for?” Before Hermione could respond, the kind Interrogator witch spoke up.

“I’m not sure why that is relevant, Chambers, if Mr. Malfoy has already apologized for those actions, as testified by Ms. Granger,” The witch with the kind eyes spoke a little louder, and Hermione was grateful to have someone in her corner. Hermione was getting tired of Interrogator Chambers being in full command of the courtroom.

“It’s _relevant_ , Interrogator Vonner, because apologizing doesn’t make him any more or less guilty of his crimes. We need to hear everything Ms. Granger knows in order to sentence Mr. Malfoy fairly. We can’t leave any stone unturned,” replied Chambers, clearly irritated with the situation.

“Chief Warlock, sir, do you believe this particular part of questioning is necessary?” asked Interrogator Vonner. Hermione made a mental note to speak with Interrogator Vonner after the trial, to thank her for her time; she was saying all the things Hermione wished she could say without being thrown out of the courtroom. Hermione’s eyes turned toward the Chief Warlock, who was humming in thought. He was a very old wizard, with his hands folded just below his chin and his elbows resting comfortably on his chair’s armrests. He reminded Hermione so much of her old Headmaster. She found herself wishing, not for the first time today, that Albus Dumbledore was still sitting in the position of Chief Warlock.

The elder wizard spoke, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts, “I’ll let this proceed, but tread lightly, Interrogator Chambers. Know your audience.”

“Thank you, sir,” Chambers replied, as Interrogator Vonner scoffed. Chambers gave her a hard look, before turning his eyes back to Hermione. “Ms. Granger?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I can recall the question,” Hermione said calmly, yet challenging him. She knew full well that everyone in the courtroom knew she could recall; she wasn’t the “brightest witch of her age” for nothing. She knew the rules of the game he was playing.

“I had asked what were the things Mr. Malfoy apologized for in his letters to you,” Chambers snapped back.

“Would you like a list?” A few people behind her snickered. Hermione could see Draco, in her peripheral view, shaking his head and trying to hide a smile, while he was looking again at his feet. Interrogator Vonner hid a laugh by pretending to cough. It was quite comical after all. Hermione felt the tension in her shoulders lessen, feeling as though she had won another battle against Interrogator Chambers.

“A list would be wonderful, Ms. Granger. List them off right now, if you would be so kind,” replied Chambers, waving his hand carelessly at her, clearly wanting to be done with the verbal exchange and return to seriousness of the conversation.

“Alright. Let’s see,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. “At the beginning of second year, Draco sent a letter of apology for his father insulting my family. I told Draco his father has always been a crass, spineless man. If Draco had to write an apology for everything Lucius Malfoy did, he’d spend his entire inheritance on parchment and ink. I, myself, could write sixty inches on the reasons I despise that man. Luckily, Draco is half Black and has at least some good genes in him.”

“Ms. Granger,” Chambers interrupted, “if you could refrain from using Muggle language, I’m sure we’d all be grateful. Please return to the subject at hand.”

It took Hermione all she had not to roll her eyes at him, but she continued nonetheless, “That year, Draco sent one for calling me a Mudblood for the first time; that was one of the times he gave me a package of sugar quills with his apology. He had to ask his mother to send them, since students can’t go to Hogsmeade until third year. He sent another letter for saying he wished me dead. I got a package of sugar quills then too. The second time he said he wished me dead, I only got a letter, no sugar quills. I wish I had though; I am quite fond of them. He did write in that letter that he wanted to send me some, but he couldn’t keep bothering his mother to send him sweets, though I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded. There came a point when I started looking forward to him insulting me, knowing I’d get something in return for it. Hearing a slur and then getting a note the next morning, it was exhilarating. Our own little secret. ‘Put on a good act’ as he had said.

“Draco even sent me a lot of letters apologizing for saying rude things about me to his friends, things that I hadn’t even been aware of. If he hadn’t apologized for them, I wouldn’t have ever known. He did send an apology for not warning me sooner of the basilisk, of course. He had written that he had known about it before the start of the year, but he didn’t slip the note into my bag until a couple people were already petrified. If my memory serves me correctly, I think that’s all for second year. In the summer before third year—“

“Wait, wait. Go back to what you said about the basilisk,” Chambers said, interrupting her a second time. Hermione was starting to see a pattern in him.

“What do you need to you know? Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and I have already submitted written attestations about the basilisk, to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. What more did you need me to elaborate on?” Hermione asked, confused by his question. She chanced another glance at Draco, who was watching Chambers and looking just as confused as she felt. Hermione wasn’t sure which part Draco was confused about, though, given that she didn’t know if he even knew about their written attestations at all.

“I don’t believe the Members of Wizengamot were aware of Mr. Malfoy’s involvement with the basilisk. Are you saying he knew about it the entire time, and he didn’t bother to warn anyone except you? Is that what you’re telling us?” Interrogator Chambers’s voice had risen with each question, as if angry at her for not giving him all of her information, reminding her eerily of her time in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Hermione swallowed thickly, pushing those thoughts away for the time being. There will be plenty of time for that later, she thought. She pushed the lock of hair that kept falling into her face back behind her ear. It was becoming a habit, but at least a better habit than biting her nails, especially in a Wizengamot courtroom.

“This was all documented in my written attestation, Interrogator Chambers. I’m confused as to why this would be new information for you,” said Hermione, coldly. She would’ve added “how dare you not think to read it” if she didn’t think it would get her escorted out of the courtroom. As much as she wanted to, it was frowned upon to talk back to the Interrogators, and she was walking on a very thin line.

“Not to worry, Ms. Granger,” Interrogator Vonner spoke up, kindly. “I’m sure most of us here read your attestations of your time in Hogwarts. We’re not all ignorant of the facts.” Hermione saw Chambers sneer, while Vonner smiled softly at her, reminding Hermione of the soft smile her mother always had for her. Hermione was starting to think Vonner was getting tired of Chambers too, and it felt nice to have a little respite from his scowl by looking in Vonner’s direction.

“Should I continue my laundry list of apologies Mr. Malfoy had written to me, or are we moving on?” Hermione asked, directing her question to Vonner, not quite sure which direction the Wizengamot was taking her testimony. It seemed that this whole trial wasn’t going the way she had planned it. Hermione had been expecting to testify on their time in the war and some of their time in sixth year. She hadn’t expected to have to recapitulate a lifetime’s worth of memories. She supposed that she should have prepared herself a little more for the unexpected.

“Well, let’s see,” Interrogator Vonner replied. “By a show of hands, who has read the attestations of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger of the Chamber of Secrets prior to the hearing today?” Everyone in the room except for Interrogator Chambers and one other Member of Wizengamot (who was nodding off and needed to be elbowed) had risen his or her hand.

“Then, I believe, we can move on. Interrogator Chambers, I can catch you up during our lunch break,” said Vonner, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Now, Ms. Granger, you had mentioned second year. Was third year more of the same, or anything particular stand out?”

“The summer before third year, Draco sent me a charmed journal. Anything you wrote in one would appear in the other, and vice versa. He told me he got the idea from his mother, and it became much easier to exchange notes...Oh! Third year was when _I_ had sent _him_ an apology. I punched him in the face that year. It felt quite good, if I’m being honest. It was his fault that hippogriff was almost executed without just cause,” said Hermione, smiling for the first time all day. She then turned her head toward Draco, who wasn’t meeting her gaze. “I mean really, you put all the blame on your father for that one, but we all know you agitated Buckbeak on purpose,” she said teasingly, her voice light, lost in the memory.

“Ms. Granger,” interrupted interrogator Chambers, once again, and Hermione’s smile faded, her mind returning to the courtroom, “please do remember that you are not to speak directly to the defendant. You are here to testify, not catch up with old friends.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione replied, looking down at her folded hands in her lap.

“Anything else to note before we move on to fourth year?” Vonner asked, with sorrow in voice, that reminded Hermione of when Professor McGonagall had to reprimand her and her friends when they were children.

“Nothing of any relevance. Now, fourth year. Fourth year had started right after the attack at the Quidditch World Cup, I’m sure you all remember...” She made a silent prayer, to anyone who was listening, that she still had enough time in the day to finish her testimony. She really didn’t want to go through another day of this.


	4. Chapter 4

_Granger,_   
_I hope you know I was trying to warn you, back in the woods after the Quidditch World Cup. I wanted to get you out of there. It was obviously a dangerous situation for you and your friends. I’m sorry if my warning didn’t register. I’m sure it did though; you’re a very bright witch. You need to be careful this year. My father kept mentioning during the summer that a lot will be changing. He won’t specify what, but there’s no harm in staying safe and keeping your eyes open. Anyway, hopefully your workload is much less than it was last year, and we’ll be able to meet throughout the school year without much trouble._   
_See you soon._

Hermione quietly folded the note, stuck it in her bag, and went back to her eggs and sausage. Draco had stopped signing his notes at the end of second year, but his handwriting had become distinct enough for Hermione to know it was from him. They had been using their charmed journals regularly, particularly late at night, away from wandering eyes. He still sent notes to her on occasion though.

“What was that?” muffled Ron, his mouth stuffed with a cinnamon bun.

“Oh, nothing really,” replied Hermione, a soft smile on her lips, “just a note from my mum, reminding me not to overdo my workload this year.”

————

“Granger.” Hermione heard his voice, but she kept her eyes on her book, not wanting to lose her place. Just one more paragraph. “Granger, what, on earth, are these? S.P.E.W.?” She finally looked up to see Draco standing at her table in the back of the library, holding one of her badges.

“It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I created it,” she stated, pushing her shoulders back, clearly proud of herself.

“And may I ask why?” Draco replied, looking to his left for any wandering students.

“Well, I wanted to put something more detailed, to show purpose, but the badges would’ve needed to be much bigger. That would’ve eaten into our leaflet funds,” Hermione responded, while Draco gave her a confused look.

“No, not the name. Why the ‘promotion of elfish welfare’? And you do know this also spells ‘spew’, right?” Draco asked, still confused about the whole thing.

“You sound like Ron,” she said, indignantly, as Draco scoffed. “Did you know that there are house-elves, right here in Hogwarts, cooking our food, doing our laundry, washing our dishes, all of it? They’re not getting paid, and not just in Hogwarts. They don’t have equal representation within the Ministry either. They’re practically enslaved! I already have five members in the Society, though I think Dean and Seamus only joined to get me to stop bothering them. I’m reading up on equal opportunities for the elves and planning our first meeting.”

“You’re something else, Granger,” Draco muttered under his breath, twiddling the button between the fingers of his right hand.

“I’m collecting donations too,” Hermione said, pointing the feather of her quill to the tin next to her, “Two sickles will get you a badge. All proceeds go directly to the cause. I think our first meeting will be, in part, making the leaflets. I already have a brief sketch of what they’ll look like, and I have a list of short-term and long-term goals.” She pulled out some parchment with lists and a flow chart. Draco walked around the table to her side and kneeled down next to her, to see the parchment a little better, still keeping one eye on the aisle of the library.

“Well,” Draco said, after briefly reviewing her parchment, and pointed to a space in her flow chart, “you might want to add Meeting with the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures before you go straight to the Minister of Magic.”

“I thought of that,” she replied dejectedly, “but then I figured if they truly cared about the welfare of elves, something would’ve been done already.” Still, she took her quill and added D.R.C.M.C in the space that Draco pointed.

“I don’t have two sickles, but I do have a galleon,” he said, taking the coin out of his pocket, holding it out to her. She took the galleon, with a grateful smile and eyes wide. “Just be sure not to put it in your tin. You don’t want to have to explain where it came from.” He paused, while she stuck the galleon into her own pocket with a quiet “thanks”.

“S.P.E.W.” he whispered almost to himself, shaking his head, “Spew. You make it too easy to tease you, Granger, I swear.” Draco patted her knee twice as he stood up, and left just as quietly as he came.

————

As Hermione entered one of the abandoned classrooms on third floor, she instantly felt something was wrong. It was during dinner; Hermione had made an easy excuse about needing to return a book to the library. Draco’s back was facing her as he looked out the window in the back of the room.

“Draco?” she whispered and saw his back stiffen. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“I heard you’re going to the Yule Ball with Krum. Getting chummy with him, huh?” He responded, in a voice she had heard, but not one he had ever used with her when they were alone.

“I suppose? Where did you did hear that?” she asked, curious as she hadn’t mentioned it to anyone other than Ginny, and she knew Ginny wouldn’t have told anyone.

“A few new friends from Durmstrang might’ve mentioned it,” Draco said, still facing the window.

“It’s not like anyone else asked me. I think Ron was going to, but he hadn’t by the time Viktor had.” At this, Draco turned and locked eyes with her, his fists clenched. She paused, looking at his expression that she read as part anger, part embarrassment.

“You wanted to ask.” It wasn’t a question. “Draco, I couldn’t very well go with you. You know that,” Hermione said, as she finally walked over to him and put her hand on his chest. He visibly relaxed.

“I wanted to ask,” he replied quietly, his voice changing back to the one he reserved for her.

“And I wanted to say yes,” she whispered. “You have no reason to worry about Viktor Krum, okay?” Draco nodded, as he took his right hand and pushed a lock of her hair to behind her ear.

“Just in case I don’t get a chance to tell you, you look beautiful in your dress robes,” he said, as he rubbed his thumb on her cheek, leaning his forehead against hers.

“But you haven’t even seen me in them,” replied Hermione, giggling.

“I don’t need to.” With that, with his thumb stilling on her cheek, he kissed her. It was a ghost of a kiss, her first, but it was perfect.

————

In the week following the release of the Witch Weekly article of Rita Skeeter calling Hermione nothing short of a scarlet woman (as Ron had called it), Draco hadn’t reached out to Hermione at all. It wasn’t unusual to go a few days without communication with him, but with the recent events going on, Hermione wished she had at least gotten something from him. One night Hermione threw caution to the wind and wrote Draco a note in her charmed journal, hoping he’d see it eventually.

_I have a feeling you might be mad at me. I want you to know that I had no say in what that Skeeter woman wrote about me. It was only partially true. Viktor did ask me to come visit him during the summer holiday, and he did mention something about having feelings for me. I haven’t responded to him yet, though. I’m going to tell him we can only ever be friends. I can’t control how other people feel about me. And all of that about Harry, it’s absolute rubbish. I’m not a scarlet woman, and I don’t want you to think I’m playing you because I’m not... I just wanted you to know that._

Not two minutes later, Hermione received a response, knowing that Draco was looking at his journal the same time she was writing in hers. It felt like their minds were in sync, both thinking of the other, and that brought a smile to her face just as much as his response did.

_I know. I trust you._

————

After Hermione had said goodnight to her parents and got comfortably in her own bed for first time since last August, she pulled out her charmed journal and read her most recent note.

_Granger, please be careful. Everything is changing. You and I both know the Dark Lord is back, no matter what the Ministry says. I’m not wrong when I told you Muggle-borns will be the first to go. My father has told me all about the first time the Dark Lord rose to power. It won’t be safe for you and your family much longer. My father is terrified, but he will only admit that to my mother. I’ll let you know if I find out anything further. Stay safe._

Hermione reread the note a handful of times before pulling out her muggle pen and responded.

_Not sure when you’ll read this, but you need to be careful as well. If your father is saying he’s terrified, he definitely would need a reason to be. Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t correspond this summer. It’s too close to home for you. Please stay safe._


	5. Chapter 5

“We had started ending every note with ‘stay safe’. It had become a bit of a habit, since You-Know-Who had returned,” Hermione said quietly, reminiscing. Just as Interrogator Chambers opened his mouth, to either ask another question or to say another snippy comment, the clock rang, signaling it was quarter to noon.

“Ah,” Interrogator Vonner started, sounding excited, “almost lunch time! Why don’t we break for an hour now, and Ms. Granger can continue her testimony after lunch. Mr. Chambers, I promised you a breakdown of the written attestations of the Chamber of Secrets.” The Members of Wizengamot started to stand, taking their time to stretch, from all the sitting they had been doing all morning.

Hermione looked around for the first time since being seated in the witness chair. She saw Harry and Ron, already waiting for her at the courtroom door. Ron had always wanted to be the first one out the door once lunch was called. Hermione stood and walked over to the door; she glanced back to the center of the courtroom, where Draco was being escorted out of a separate doorway. She looked up to the witness booth, seeing George and Ginny whispering. For a moment, Hermione almost went over to ask if she could join them for lunch. She sighed and continued to follow Harry and Ron. The Golden Trio walked in silence until they got into a lift to get to the cafeteria. Luckily no one else came into the lift by the time it took off.

“So, maybe this will run long after all,” said Harry. He was always one to try to break uncomfortable tension.

“I’m still hopeful it’ll be done by the end of the day,” she said quietly.

“Why? To get your boyfriend out of Azkaban, even though we all know that’s what he deserves?” Ron started, maliciously.

“Ron—” Harry tried to interrupt, as Hermione stayed silent.

“Was any of that stuff even true? Or are you just lying to get him out of it?” Ron said, raising his voice as he spoke.

“You know I wouldn’t do that. I take the court system very seriously and—”

“Just like we took the Hogwarts rules seriously? We broke so many rules, and how many times did we lie to teachers? All on your suggestion, by the way. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you were lying about everything just to get him off,” Ron continued, his voice ever-increasing in volume. “And speaking of ‘getting off’, is he just that good? Is that why you’re doing this? Every time we said ‘ _fucking Malfoy_ ’, it turns out you already were—”

It was the slap heard ‘round the world. At least, it would’ve been, if the sound of the lift wasn’t louder. Hermione stared at Ron as he looked up at her, surprise in his eyes and murder in hers, trying to control her breathing with her hand still raised as if prepared to strike a second time.

“First of all, Hogwarts rules are entirely different from Wizarding Law. Second of all, it’s not my fault you’ve always been jealous of Draco Malfoy, Ronald.” At that moment, the lift opened, and Hermione stormed out, not even caring if it was the correct floor or not. She just needed to get out of that small space with that small mind. Luckily for her, it was the correct floor of the cafeteria.

“ _Jealous!?_ You think I’m _jealous_ of that ferret? I am _not_ jealous of that loathsome—” but Hermione tuned him out and kept marching toward the cafeteria. She didn’t want to hear anymore. Harry finally caught up with her though.

“Hermione, I think we’re just surprised that we haven’t heard of any of this before. When were you planning on telling us?” Harry said, sounding baffled, in disbelief. He had every right to be.

“After the war and after the trials were over,” she responded, emphatically, “and in my defense, Ginny and George already know some of it. They just promised not to say anything. I told them it was my secret to tell. Can we please just talk about all of this later? I want a quiet lunch to collect my thoughts and maybe eat something, if I can stomach it. I promise I’ll answer all your questions and tell you everything after it’s all over.” Hermione was silently begging Harry, and he finally nodded.

Harry and Hermione had a very quiet lunch with no interruptions. Ron sat on the other side of the cafeteria, staring at them and sulking. Harry had spoken with Ron, as Hermione had bought lunch (just an orange with a cup of tea). Ron was probably informed not to bother them. The hour went by much faster than Hermione would’ve liked, but she also wanted this all to be over and done as quickly as possible. Before long, everyone was back in their original seats from before lunch, ready to continue.

“Alright then, where were we?” Interrogator Vonner started. “Ms. Granger, we had just finished discussing your fourth year and You-Know-Who returning to power. That brings us up to fifth year, yes? Anything you’d like to add in regards to that?”

“Well, that was a pretty exciting year for me...That was the year we had formed Dumbledore’s Army, as a way of combatting the Dark Side. Nothing in particular stands out when it comes to Draco’s case though, other than that at the end of that year, he told me he loved me for the first time and that he swore he would protect me.”

“He swore to protect you?” Vonner asked, patiently, sounding genuinely curious.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said, respectfully to her. “It was right after his father was sent to Azkaban. We were in one of the abandoned classrooms. He grabbed my wrist and I grabbed his, as if it would have been an Unbreakable Vow, if we had a witness at the time. He looked me right in the eye and I remember his words vividly. He said ‘Hermione,’ which he rarely calls me by the way, ‘Hermione, I love you more than you will ever know. I swear to you, no matter what happens, no matter what everything is perceived to be, no matter what anyone tells you, I will protect you in every possible way with all that I am. The only side I am on is yours. I swear to you. Please trust me.’ And I did and still do.”

“Ms. Granger,” Interrogator Chambers spoke up, bringing her out of her memory, “You say you trusted him. Was it blind trust? Did it ever occur to you that Mr. Malfoy might have been lying? Tricking you into a false sense of security? Trying to pull information from you to bring back to You-Know-Who? It is very plausible, as it’s happened before with other Death Eaters.”

“No, it never occurred to me,” Hermione responded, shortly, ignoring the Death Eater comment, “He was and is one of my best friends, and especially because of everything that happened in our sixth year. He never wanted to be caught up in it all.”

“Ah, yes,” said Chambers, his voice becoming menacing once again. “You had mentioned this morning about Mr. Malfoy having cuts up and down his Dark Mark? About how he tried to slice it off?”

“Interrogator Chambers, if I may,” interrupted Vonner, before Hermione could rebuttal. “I think since their sixth year is when a few of Mr. Malfoy’s crimes take place, it would be imperative that Ms. Granger start at the beginning of this year, rather than jumping right into the middle of it?” Chambers waved his hand at Vonner, in an uncaring sort of way, rolling his eyes . “If you please, Ms. Granger?”

“Alright,” Hermione said, thinking of how to backtrack. “Well, the summer before sixth year was when Draco had received the Dark Mark. I didn’t know that at the time though, of course...” Hermione took a deep breath. _Here we go. What you’ve been preparing for for months._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very emotional, with mentions of self-harm and suicide, in case you’re triggered by such things. It’s the bottom half of the chapter. It doesn’t effect the remainder of the story too much, if you want to skip it.

Hermione walked into the Room of Requirement at 5:30 in the evening, after the first day of classes, just like Draco had asked her. She had the easy excuse of wanting to get a head start on studying for N.E.W.T.s. The second that the door closed behind her, she was pushed up against the door and her lips were attacked. Draco was kissing her as if he were dying of thirst and she was the last source of water, fast and hard, his arms trapping her on either side. His lips had moved toward her neck, moving speedily downward toward her collarbone.

“Draco...Draco. Slow down,” she said when she could finally get a word in, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. He leaned his forehead against hers, taking a breath.

“Sorry. I’ve just been missing you,” he whispered back.

“I know the feeling. I said ‘slow down’ not ‘stop’,” she said, smirking at him, one that could rival his own. He continued kissing her on the lips again, much softer and slower than before, taking his time.

About a half hour later, Hermione was leaning against Draco’s chest, with Draco was leaning against the chaise in front of the warm fireplace that the Room had created for them. They were fully dressed again, and he was playing nonchalantly with her left hand with his own, while his right arm was wrapped lightly around her waist.

“I love you,” he whispered. He said it as if it were the first time, as if he hadn’t just told her a thousand times over in the past half hour.

“We’re going to get married,” he said suddenly, surprising Hermione, as he rubbed the part of her hand where a ring would neatly fit.

“We are, huh? Is that a proposal?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t have a ring for you, of course, but after Hogwarts, after everything’s over, we’re going to get married,” he said, emphatically. “And you’ll be the most beautiful bride.”

“Oh yeah?” Hermione whispered, still wondering where the conversation was going.

“Yeah, we’ll get married in the gardens behind the Manor. You’ll love it; it’s full of all different sorts of flowers and white peacocks, with a gorgeous gazebo overlooking a lake.” Draco was thumbing the center of her hand now. If she didn’t already know that he didn’t believe in palmistry, she could have sworn that’s what he was doing.

“We live in a little cottage, in the foothills right outside London. It’s just close enough for Apparating to the Ministry or Hogsmeade with no trouble, and just far enough away from prying eyes. You’re offered any position you want in the Ministry. You don’t want to be just given a position though; you’ve always believed in working for what you have. You start by working in the Beings Division of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and work your way up to Head. Everyone tells you that you should run for Minister of Magic, but you won’t.” He paused. Hermione, only slightly aware he was talking in present tense now, wanted to asked him why she wouldn’t run for Minister, but she didn’t want to interrupt his train of thought. Still, he continued as if she had. “You don’t want to be Minister because it would take up too much of your free time that you spend with our kids.”

“We have kids?” Hermione impulsively felt the need to ask, while Draco still had that far off look in his eye, still rubbing her palm.

“A boy and a girl. You insist on keeping the Black tradition of constellation names, saying the Black part of me was the only part you ever really liked. Scorpius and Cassiopeia, Cassie. And you’re an amazing mother, like you were born to have the role...and I try my best to be everything my father wasn’t.” Just like that, the rubbing of her palm stopped, and Draco looked like he had just come crashing back to the present.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. He let go of her hand, wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, and tightened his hold on her, as if he were terrified to let her go. Maybe he was.

———

Hermione was walking toward the back of the library to her table, where there was usually no one around to bother her. It was the perfect table, with the perfect amount of lighting from the candles and the big bay window. When she caught sight of it, her heart skipped a beat. Sitting there, across from where she usually sat, was Draco Malfoy, studying. He was clearly getting skinnier by the day. Hermione sighed, walked over to her usual side, and started to unpack her bag.

“Granger,” Draco said, looking up from his book.

“Malfoy,” she replied, teasingly, a small smile on her lips.

“Granger,” he repeated, “do you know of any potions or salve that relieves burning pain?”

“Burning pain? Is this research for Slughorn’s class? I chose the Wolfsbane potion for that assignment.” She looked at him puzzled but kept her smile. Over the last few months, Draco had been asking her various questions in regards to preparing for their N.E.W.T.s, or so he said: magical furniture and jewelry, odorless and tasteless potions, a refresher on counter-curses. It had honestly been helping her with her studies as well, so she didn’t think too much of it.

“No,” he said, emphatically. “This is just for me.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, her smile falling. “Well, let’s see. There’s the star grass salve and burn-healing paste. You could also try murtlap essence, but that’s mostly used to heal cuts and scrapes.”

“I tried those. They’re not working. It’s not a superficial anyway,” Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Well, what’s the pain like? Maybe if you described to me, I could come up with a better solution for you,” she said, trying to sound hopeful to the haggard wizard in front of her.

Draco sighed again slowly, and then answered, “It’s like it’s inside me...like my bones are on fire.” He was looking down at the table, not meeting her gaze.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered, worryingly. She almost asked him if he was alright, but it was clear that he wasn’t. “I can’t think of anything that could heal that type of pain. Something brewed with dragon’s tongue as the main ingredient is sure to help, but I can’t think any potions like that. Potions is far from my best subject though. Maybe you should ask Professor Snape. I’m sure he’d help you if you asked him.” Draco looked up at her again. In that moment, she noticed how truly tired he looked, a type of tired that couldn’t be cured by sleep alone.

“Granger, you’re the brightest witch I know. If you can’t help me,” he paused, sighing dejectedly, “then I can’t be helped.” The tone of his voice told Hermione he had lost all hope, but for what reason, she wasn’t sure. Draco pushed himself up, as if it took all of his strength just to stand, and started walking down the aisle of the library. Hermione shot up instantly, trying to follow him, but he was already gone.

Hermione did not sleep well that night. She had tried writing in her charmed journal but got no reply from him, which only added to her nerves. The following evening, she was late to dinner, having spent every available moment searching for something that would help Draco. In the Great Hall, Draco was once again nowhere to be seen. She wondered briefly if he was eating at all. As she sat down next to Harry and pulled out her current library book, _1001 Potion Ingredients and Properties_ , she caught wind of the middle of Harry and Ron’s conversation.

“I just don’t know what he’s doing up there. Probably something Death Eater related,” Harry said to Ron, pointing to his Marauder’s Map.

“Malfoy, again?” Hermione asked, joining the conversation.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, “Harry thinks he’s up to something again. He’s at the top of the Astronomy Tower right now, instead of at dinner.”

“The Astronomy Tower?” she asked, “Can I see?” Harry pushed the map over to her. Sure enough, there were little feet right at the top edge of the Astronomy Tower, with Draco Malfoy written next to them. All of a sudden, Hermione replayed the conversation she had had with Draco the previous day. She instantly had the nauseating idea that the map that showed Draco’s feet at the top of the Astronomy Tower would, at any second, show his feet at the bottom of it.

“The Astronomy Tower!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing her book back into her bag. “I just remembered! I’m doing research on the Wolfsbane potion. I have to go.”

“What about Malfoy?” “Was there homework I missed?” Harry and Ron said at the same time. She waved them off as she rose to her feet.

“Don’t worry about me! I’ll see you up in the common room in a little bit.” Hermione ran as fast as her feet could carry her. She had the perfect alibi for why she was up in the Astronomy Tower. She _was_ doing that research; it just wasn’t the reason why she was up there at the time. While running, she prepared herself for what she would say to convince Draco to come off the ledge of the tower. She took the stairs two at a time, finally reaching the top. She didn’t see Draco standing on the ledge, ready to jump, like she had thought she would. Instead, it was so much worse.

Draco was on the floor, leaning against the ledge of the tower, covered in blood. He had a dagger in his right hand, slicing down the forearm of his left.

“Draco!” Hermione screamed. She dropped her bag, ran over, and fell to her knees next to him. “Draco, what are you doing!?”

“It won’t stop burning. It won’t stop burning.” He was in a trance, repeating that phrase over and over, cutting downward on his arm over and over. Hermione looked down and finally noticed what it was that was causing him so much pain. There, on his forearm, a stark contrast on his pale skin, tinted red from all the blood, was the Dark Mark. Hermione hissed, not from the Mark, but from all the cuts and all the pain it was causing him.

“Draco, you need to stop. You’re going to bleed out,” she said urgently, putting her hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t listening though; it was as if he didn’t even notice she was there, even as she tried to shake him out of it. Pulling out all the stops, Hermione grabbed onto his bleeding arm, stopping the blade from continuing on its mission. “Draco, look at me!”

He did. He looked at her, tears in his eyes, and the world stopped. Hermione took a deep breath, still holding a grip on his bleeding arm with her right hand. She pulled the dagger away from him with her left hand and threw it behind her. Draco was starting to breath heavily, and his skin felt clammy in her hands.

“I’m going to heal you, and we need to get you a blood-replenishing potion,” Hermione said, her voice unsteady. She was doing everything she could not to break down; it wouldn’t do him any good anyway. She pulled out her wand and started to perform the few healing spells she knew. All of a sudden, his right hand was on her shoulder.

“Granger, I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, his eyes looking heavy and his breathing shallow.

“I know, but it’s okay. I’m going to heal you, and everything will be fine. You just have to stay awake,” she replied, still focused on his arm, trying to remember what her mother had told her once about blood loss, or maybe that was concussions?

“No, Hermione,” he whispered again, pulling on her robes toward him, as if begging her to listen. Hermione looked at his face, which had started to sweat, more tears forming in his eyes. He had only called her ‘Hermione’ once before, which had felt like a lifetime ago. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” Hermione knew he wasn’t talking about practically cutting his arm off, and she had a feeling her forgiveness in that moment meant saving his life. He nodded, and the arm that was holding onto her robes went limp; he leaned his head back against the ledge, closing his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered to her. “You know that?” Hermione wondered briefly if he wanted his last sentence to be that he loves her, just in case, just like she did when she left her parents at the train every year.

“I do. I know,” she replied, her sight going blurry with tears, “I love you too. Just rest now, but you need to stay awake.” He nodded again, but it was too small for her to notice.

After the longest minute of her life, Hermione felt confident his arm had stopped bleeding. “I healed the vessels, but I’m shaking too bad to heal your skin. And we still need to get you a blood-replenishing potion. Are you with me?” Draco slightly opened his eyes to show he could hear her; he was still breathing heavily.

“I’m going to go find a teacher,” she continued. Just as she started to stand up, Draco caught hold of her robes with his right hand again.

“Don’t...Go...” he whispered, a word with each breath.

“I have to go. I have to find someone who can help us. I won’t let you die. I’ll be right back.” He let go of her robes and nodded slightly, his arming going limp once again. “I‘ll be right back. I promise. Just focus on staying awake.”

Hermione didn’t wait for him to respond. She knew he needed more help than she was able to give at that moment. She ran past the dagger, past her bag, down all the stairs, down the corridor, and then—

“Professor!” Professors McGonagall and Snape both turned and looked at her, looking shocked to see her.

“Ms. Granger, what on earth...?” McGonagall was the first to get her bearing.

“It’s Draco. He’s at the top of the Astronomy Tower. He had a knife. I got him to stop, but I—” Hermione was talking too fast to be understood and was starting to hyperventilate, gulping in air.

“Ms. Granger, slow down. Tell us what happened,” Professor McGonagall tried again, and Hermione said the three words she rarely ever used when a professor asked her a question.

“I don’t know.” Hermione allowed herself to break down into tears, collapsing onto her knees and covering her face with her hands. Professor Snape started walking past her. She barely registered the brief conversation between her two professors (“He has a knife, Severus. Please be careful.” “I can handle the boy.”).

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” McGonagall walked over and knelt beside her. Hermione looked at her hands, still covered in Draco’s blood, and shook her head slowly. _No, I’m not alright. No, he didn’t hurt me._

“I promised I’d be right back,” Hermione said in a hurried whisper, looking over her shoulder in the direction Snape had gone.

“Professor Snape will handle Draco Malfoy,” McGonagall said, calmly. “We need to get you cleaned up.” She wiped her thumb on Hermione’s cheek, in the way a mother would wipe her daughter’s tears. Instead of tears though, Hermione saw Draco’s congealing blood on McGonagall’s thumb. Hermione looked down at herself for the first time, realizing how bizarre it must have looked to have a student running toward her professors covered in blood, with barely an explanation for it.

“It’s his, not mine,” Hermione whispered, still not finding her voice. Professor McGonagall nodded, as if that one sentence was all the explanation she needed. McGonagall helped her up and led her down the corridor. Hermione didn’t bother to mention her forgotten bag as an excuse to return to Draco’s side; she didn’t think she’d have the energy to make the trip back up anyway. Professor McGonagall started chatting about the different charms one could use to remove blood and stains from clothes, returning to their roles of teacher and student. Hermione was grateful, grateful for the distraction and grateful for not having to explain any further what happened at the top of the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

“You traitor!” Hermione heard Ron yell, and her back stiffened. “You knew! You knew the whole time and didn’t tell us!”

“Mr. Weasley!” Minister Shacklebolt tried yelling over Ron.

“You let that _snake_ take advantage of you!” Ron either didn’t hear Kingsley or chose to ignore him. “You knew he was a Death Eater! Did you know about his plan to kill Dumbledore too!? Did you know he was doing You-Know-Who’s bidding, and didn’t bother to tell us anything!?”

“Mr. Weasley!” Shacklebolt tried again. “You will remain quiet and seated, or you will be escorted out of this courtroom. You are not a Member of Wizengamot, and you are certainly not an Interrogator. Do you understand me?”

Hermione heard George muffle “Sit down, Ron,” and could imagine him putting his hands on Ron’s shoulders, forcing him back into his seat. Still, Hermione kept her head and eyes forward, refusing to engage in the situation. At the start of this trial, Hermione had a feeling that the Interrogators would try to diminish the effectiveness of her testimony, but she hadn’t thought that Ronald would; she supposed now that it should have been an obvious assumption that he would. Hermione felt her eyes start to water and rubbed the corner of her right eye with her right middle finger, as if it were nothing more than a piece of dust.

There were a few minutes of silence while the Members of Wizengamot got a confirmation from Ron that he wouldn’t have another outburst.

“Mr. Weasley does have a point, Ms. Granger,” said Interrogator Chambers, when everything had settled down. “You knew he was a Death Eater and didn’t bother to tell anyone?”

“I knew he had the Dark Mark, sir,” she replied, as a rehearsed line. “All Death Eaters carry the Dark Mark, but not all those who carry the Mark are to be considered Death Eaters, as proven by Severus Snape.”

“Well,” Chambers went on, refusing to acknowledge her argument, “why did Ms. Minerva McGonagall not testify on that evening you found her in the corridor?”

“Because, I didn’t give her any information of that evening,” Hermione said curtly. “The only things she knew was that Draco had a knife and I was covered in his blood. Hardly enough information to create a testimony.”

“Did you know about Mr. Malfoy’s plan to kill Albus Dumbledore?” asked Interrogator Vonner this time. “His crimes do include three counts of attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder of Dumbledore during your sixth year, after all.” Hermione looked over to her. Vonner had an expression that told Hermione she was no longer there to help her through the trial. Hermione reminded herself that their jobs were to take in and understand all the facts and to serve justice.

“No,” she said shortly. “No, he kept me in the dark about the whole thing: the plot to kill Professor Dumbledore, the Vanishing Cabinet, the plan to bring the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, the whole thing. He told me he wanted to keep me in the dark because it was safer for me. ‘The less you know the better,’ he said. Of course, I should have been able to put it all together; it became pretty obvious after the fact. Hindsight is 20/20, as the Muggles say. If I had known, I would’ve told Dumbledore or at least try to convince Draco to tell him.”

“Still,” Chambers said, before Vonner had the chance to ask another question, “you learned Mr. Malfoy had the Dark Mark, the very thing that represents everything you stand against, and you still chose to save his life...”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hermione replied. “I’m sure anyone would have done the same, tried to save someone as he’s helplessly bleeding to death while clearly unhinged, regardless if he’s a Death Eater or a Muggle.” She ended the sentence with a whisper, looking down at her hands, remembering again the amount of pain he endured.

“And yet,” Hermione looked up again and saw Chambers smirking at her. “And yet, he didn’t reciprocate the action.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere, Interrogator Chambers?” Hermione glanced toward Interrogator Vonner, but Vonner’s face was expressionless, which was no help to Hermione.

“Well,” Chambers went on, “you just testified that you saved his life. We had heard already during various testimonies in the last three days, that Mr. Malfoy did not choose to save your life. That night, at Malfoy Manor, in the drawing room, he chose to stand there and do nothing. Is that not what happened?”

Harry, Ron, and Luna had testified what had happened that night; how she had been heard, crying out in pain and agony; how she had called out to Draco for his help, and from where they could hear, he hadn’t done anything to help her.

“Interrogator Chambers, Mr. Malfoy’s intent and the circumstances upon which he—“ she started, but Chambers interrupted her by slamming his fists on the armrests of his chair, startling her.

“ _Intent_ and _circumstances_ are not considered in Wizengamot, Ms. Granger,” he said, maliciously. “This is not a Muggle courtroom, as you have already been reminded of once today. The Wizengamot considers the facts, did or did not, guilty or not guilty, Death Eater or not Death Eater. We’ve already heard many testimonies during this trial, Ms. Granger. So, I’m going to ask you again. Mr. Malfoy did nothing, nothing as you writhed in pain, as you called out to him, begging for him to help you. He stood there and did nothing. Do you deny that?”

In that moment, as much as she had prepared for this part of her testimony, Hermione’s eyes started watering again. She was brought back to that day. She could see herself, lying on the floor, covered in dirt from running through the forest. There was Bellatrix Lestrange, on top of her, carving that word into her arm. That word that she had been wearing like a badge of honor since the war ended. She screamed until her throat had gone raw. She called for him, to help her, to make it stop, to do something, to do anything. In that moment, she hadn’t known he was in just as much pain as she was. She hadn’t known how much it hurt him to see the strongest, brightest witch, the love of his life, crumble. She hadn’t known because all she saw was his neutral, indifferent expression, as if everything that had happened between them hadn’t mattered in the slightest. In that moment, everything she feared had materialized, and that had hurt her more than any Cruciatus Curse.

“No,” Hermione whispered. She took a deep breath, rubbing her right hand against her left arm in her lap subconsciously, not daring to meet anyone in the eyes.

“Thank you, Ms. Granger. I believe we have heard all we needed from you. You may return to your seat.” Hermione looked up, and her eyes ran across the other Members of Wizengamot. With the conclusion that her testimony was over, Hermione rose from the witness chair and began walking back to her seat, the poise and grace she had held all morning, now gone, tears forming in her eyes. All the research she had done for this case didn’t prepare her for this. She had lost the war she had been fighting so valiantly, and she wasn’t ready for it to be over.

As Hermione walked past Draco Malfoy on her right, she stopped walking, standing parallel with him. She turned her eyes on him, finally getting a full view of him.

“Now, Members of Wizengamot...” Hermione couldn’t hear anything else coming from Interrogator Chambers, where Draco’s eyes were currently fixated. She was too focused on the man sitting at her side. Sitting this close, he looked so much worse than he had while she was sitting in the witness booth this morning. She was convinced now that he hadn’t eaten or slept in days, if not weeks. It broke her heart that the cocky, strong, arrogant, loving, handsome man she fell in love with was reduced to how he was now. Hermione was reminded of the oh-so-many sleepless nights she spent working on her testimony for him, and she didn’t even get a chance to finish it. This was it. Chambers was making the final arguments. The decision was about to made.

At that moment, Hermione realized her eyes were no longer blurry with tears, feeling a fire behind them instead. It was also the moment Draco finally looked up at her. Their eyes met for the first time in 173 days. For a second, she could see the brightness in his eyes return, the brightness that was always there when he looked at her, always providing comfort. Oh, how she missed that feeling; it was addicting. He gave her a small, soft smile, as if she hadn’t just single-handedly destroyed his one chance of returning home. She didn’t smile back at him, too focused on the plan coming together in her mind. Then, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed and opened slightly, as if he were about to ask her something. She could almost hear his question, almost see it on his face, _“What’s wrong, Love? You’re thinking too loud again..”_ Draco’s right hand twitched slightly, as if he was going to reach out to her and rub his thumb across her cheek, like he had a thousand times before. A new found strength overcame Hermione. She pushed her shoulders down and her chest a bit outward, nodding ever so slightly to him. She put her right heel behind her left and turned around, facing the Members of Wizengamot once again, letting the skirt of her robes swing behind her.


	8. Chapter 8

“And as you will recall from Mr. Ronald Weasley’s testimony on Tuesday—”

“Excuse me, Interrogator Chambers!” Hermione spoke loudly, interrupting the ongoing closing arguments. She held her right hand up, slightly above her head, as if waiting to be called on in the classroom. Everyone’s eyes had turned and became fixed on her, and Chambers gave her a hard look. “If you don’t mind, I have a few questions.”

“Ms. Granger,” Chambers replied, clearly irritated that she hadn’t returned to her seat, “unfortunately, witnesses are not allowed to ask questions, and your testimony was quite finished.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Chief Warlock, sir,” Hermione turned her head, clearly ignoring Chambers, “we’re talking about a ten year sentence in Azkaban, sir. Surely your court can spare a few minutes for me?”

“I’ll allow it. You can proceed, Ms. Granger,” the Chief Warlock responded, with a glint in his eye that she could see even from where she was standing, as if he wanted to see how this would all play out. He reminded her so much of her old Headmaster once more.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, hoping that her voice held the perfect amount of appreciation, and turned back to Interrogator Chambers, who looked positively aghast. She folded her hands in front of her and took a small step forward, keeping Draco on her left.

“Interrogator Chambers, like I said, I only have a few questions. First, do you have anyone you love?” Hermione could see his puzzled look appear on his face, clearly not expecting that question to come out of her mouth. “Do you have anyone you would do anything and everything for? A parent or a spouse? A child, perhaps?”

Chambers nodded, quizzically. “My wife, Ella.”

“And you would do anything for her? Do whatever it took to keep her safe and to ensure she knew that she was loved?” Hermione watched as Chambers bowed his head and nodded. “You see, Interrogator, I have that with my parents, and I’m sure Mr. Malfoy has someone like that as well.” She turned and nodded to Draco, silently asking, and Draco nodded back confirming her statement, while the Members of Wizengamot looked on at them.

“We all have someone like that. Like I mentioned, I have that with my parents. I would do anything to keep them safe, to keep them protected. This brings me to my next question, Interrogator. Why am I standing here,” and she unfolded her hands, pointing her open hands toward her feet, “and Mr. Malfoy is sitting there?” Then she pointed her open hands to where Draco was sitting.

Chambers spoke up, his hard voice returning, “He is on trial for the crimes he committed during the Second Wizarding War, Ms. Granger. Surely you were aware of that.”

“Allegedly, Interrogator Chambers. Allegedly committed.” She was sure to keep her voice even and steady, preparing herself to continue her testimony. “But back to point. Interrogator, I love my parents very much. As you can recall, right at the beginning of the war, I, an underaged witch at the time, performed the Obliviate charm and the false memory charm, on my parents. As everyone in this room is very much aware, I am Muggle-born. According to the Decree of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, Paragraph C, it is considered illegal to knowingly perform magic in the presence of a Muggle, and we would need to take into account that I have two Muggle parents. Also, according to the Improper Use of Magic Act of 1719, Section C, Subsection E, Paragraph 2, any and all memory-related charms are not to be used by any witch or wizard, unless that witch or wizard works directly under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and has reasonable cause to perform the charm. I broke four well-known laws that night, two for each of my parents, Interrogator, and another six lesser known laws on which I won’t elaborate. I know you are well aware of it, as I had received a pardon, officially signed by all of the Members of Wizengamot, without having to testify at all. Now, I will ask again. Why am I standing here, free, while Mr. Malfoy sits there, accused?”

“Ms. Granger,” Chambers began, “as you should be well aware, if you had taken the time to read your notice, you had been pardoned due to the circumstances upon which—”

“But Interrogator Chambers,” Hermione interrupted, much louder than she had intended, finally taking another step forward, “you just told me not too long ago, that _intent_ and _circumstances_ were not to be considered in the Wizengamot court. It is do or do not, guilty or not guilty. Are you telling me now that the law is situational, selective depending on the witch or wizard performing the act?”

“Ms. Granger,” Chambers started again, “you had performed your act to protect those you loved. Why are we discussing your case anyway? That had been cleared many months ago, Ms. Granger. We are here to discuss Mr. Malfoy’s case, not your’s. Why are you defending him? Why defend a man who stood there, doing nothing while you suffered?”

“And that brings me to my final question, sir,” Hermione said, taking yet another step forward. “What would you have done differently? Let’s say it had been your wife, suffering under the Cruciatus Curse, what would you have done?” One more step.

“I would have protected her!” Chambers yelled, clearly disturbed by thought of his wife in distress. “I would have attacked whoever was causing her pain. Even if it cost me my life, I would have done the right thing, instead of being a coward!”

“If cowardice were punishable by time in Azkaban,” she said slowly, “we would need a much larger prison.”

“Or smaller cells,” replied Chambers, maliciously. “The point is, Ms. Granger, you claim he loves you. If that’s how he treats people he loves, I can’t imagine how he treats people he doesn’t. Doing nothing—”

Hermione’s voice went dangerously quiet. “Stop saying that. Stop saying he did nothing.” Another step. “He didn’t do nothing. He did the one thing he was capable of doing in that moment.” Another step. She was back in the middle of the room now, right in front of the witness chair. “He protected me, Interrogator. He protected me. If he had moved at all, if he had given any inclination that he cared, he would be dead, his mother would be dead, I would be dead, and none of us would be here today.” One more step. “He didn’t. Do. Nothing. And if the Dark Lord was living in your home, Interrogator, I doubt you would’ve faired any better. You wanted my testimony. Now you have it.” Hermione lifted her arms from her sides and curtsied to the room. She then stood up straight, turned around, marched straight out of the court, not looking at anyone, as the sound of her heels faded in the courtroom.

Draco took a deep breath and finally began to glance around the room. Harry Potter was about halfway between standing and sitting, his hands against the armrests of his seat in the witness booth, probably contemplating going after his friend, with George Weasley pressing his hand against Potter’s shoulder, probably telling him not to be the hero. Ronald Weasley was pouting, as to be expected. Interrogator Chambers was still sitting, a befuddled look on his face. Draco chanced a look at the Minister, catching him in the eye. Draco rose his right hand to his chest, showing three fingers to the Minister. He counted down. Three...Two...One... The courtroom door slammed open, startling most of the people within it. Draco smirked, knowing the Hermione Granger who had just burst through the door. Her tenacity never failed her, and it didn’t look like it was about to start now. Draco could just make out the small smile on the Minister’s face.

“And another thing!” Hermione yelled from the doorway, storming back into the room, the skirt of her robes billowing behind her. “All you’ve heard during these days of his trial has been testimonies! You haven’t even heard a defense for him! How can possibly judge fairly if you don’t know all the facts?” She was no longer worried about keeping the poise she had earlier. There was fire in her eyes, and she was going to make it known.

“Alright, Ms. Granger, we’ll humor you,” Interrogator Chambers said sarcastically, as if he couldn’t believe for a second that she had a strong defense for Draco. “What would you like to add that we haven’t heard already?”

“Starting chronologically,” Hermione started, as if reading verbatim from her notes, “Draco Malfoy is charged with three counts of attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, one count of conspiracy of murder of Albus Dumbledore, one count of the use of the Imperius Curse of Madam Rosmerta, and one count of the use of the Imperius Curse of Katie Bell. This, of course, all occurred during our sixth year. For the Imperius Curses, I’m arguing that Harry Potter also performed the Imperius Curse twice during the following year, and he has since been pardoned for those acts.

“I am also going to lump all aforementioned charges together to argue that even Albus Dumbledore himself knew that Draco’s heart wasn’t in it when he performed those acts. Draco didn’t want to harm anyone and only performed those acts under duress. He was taking the fall of his father’s failures that year because Lucius Malfoy had been brought into Azkaban. Lord Voldemort had lost one of his strongest followers and brought that onto Draco. Lord Voldemort also threatened Draco with talk of killing Draco’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy, if he didn’t comply, which added to the duress. One could also argue that if Lucius Malfoy hadn’t gotten mixed up with the likes of Lord Voldemort in the first place, none of this would’ve happened to the Malfoy family at all. You could say that Lucius Malfoy defiled the Malfoy name, but I think it’s always been defiled and that Draco is the only one who has ever tried to bring honor to it. Now, onto one count of treason, one count of murder by association of Charity—”

“Ms. Granger!” bellowed Minister Shacklebolt, shocking the entire courtroom. Hermione caught her breath. She had been so focused on remembering all of her notes that she lost herself in it; it certainly hadn’t been the first time. She heard Kingsley continue calmly, “that is quite enough.”

“Forgive me, Minister, if you could just let me finish. I have a few more counts to go through and argue,” Hermione said still in a rush, but slowly catching her breath from the winded argument.

“If it’s all the same to you, Ms. Granger, I don’t believe any further statements will change the minds of the Members of Wizengamot,” Kingsley responded. Hermione looked around at the Members before returning her eyes back to Kingsley. She was very close to ignoring him and continuing her list of prepared arguments regardless, but the look on his face halted her voice. She nodded, undisputedly.

“Wonderful! Now, all in favor of sentencing the accused, Draco Malfoy, to the maximum sentence of ten years in Azkaban...” Interrogator Chambers held his hand up to his shoulder, ready to raise it up completely, but upon seeing no one else had their hands raised, instantly put it down. “And all in favor of sentencing the accused, Draco Malfoy, to the minimum sentence of six months house arrest...” Hermione started to count the hands, but instantly stopped upon noticing that every single Member of Wizengamot had his or her hand up. Hermione took a deep breath in and slowly let it out.

Kingsley began speaking again, “On behalf of the Members of Wizengamot, Mr. Malfoy, I sentence you to six months house arrest, with limited visitation rights and the confiscation of your wand for during the duration of the time. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered, his voice horse from underuse. He coughed and tried again. “Yes, Minister,” not sounding much better. The courtroom started buzzing with sound, everyone recapping what had just transpired.

“Excellent,” Shacklebolt continued, “Since your wand has already been previously confiscated, one of the Aurors just outside the courtroom doors can see you home. Just give us a few moments to get the paperwork in order. After that, you’ll be free to go, Mr. Malfoy.” At that moment, Hermione ran over to Draco, instantly wrapping her arms around his neck. Draco didn’t register her but instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Um..” Draco tried clearing his throat again, but with still no luck, “Could you say that again?”

“You’re free to go, Mr. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt said, smiling, “and if you don’t mind me saying, you have a brilliant witch in your corner. Be sure not to let her go.”

“Yes, sir, the brightest of our age,” Draco said, finally registering the woman, who still had her arms wrapped around his neck, her face pushed up against his chest. He put his arms around her fully, holding her close for first time in well over a year.

“Are you alright?” Draco whispered in her ear. Hermione looked up at him and smiled, shaking her head.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You look like you haven’t eaten or slept in weeks. I’ve been really worried about you,” she whispered back, patting his chest with right hand while the left was still wrapped around his neck.

“Well, when you’re terrified of all the food being poisoned, it really destroys your appetite. When it comes to sleeping, I’ve found my nightmares are worse than Azkaban.” Draco spoke somberly, and Hermione knew to change the subject.

“I promised your mother I would let her know how your trial went before she reads it in the Daily Prophet. I got approval for visitation for this evening with her.” Hermione started, before she saw his eyes go wide. “Oh, her trial was over a few weeks ago. She was sentenced to house arrest too. I’m sure some of your paperwork will include which parts of the Manor you’ll be allowed to stay in. I hadn’t thought to ask her that.” Draco nodded, looking relieved, still taking everything all in.

Hermione glanced over to Harry and Ginny who were walking toward them (Ron was still sulking, talking with George in the witness booth), and spoke softly to Draco. “I think I owe a couple people some explanation too. You have plenty of paperwork to go through before they can release you anyway. I’ll try to get visitation rights with you for tomorrow, okay?” Draco nodded and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Thank you,” he said, tightening his hold on her waist.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. This was all you. I just relayed the facts. I really should get going though, or we’ll be here all day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said reassuringly. “I’ll check if they can approve some dreamless sleep potion for you. I can’t promise that though. They’ve already raided the entire Malfoy estate and confiscated everything magical; they’re going through it all, testing and such, before it can be released back to the estate. I’ll try though. I think some sleep would do you good.” Draco nodded, and they both fell silent for a moment before Hermione heard someone cough.

“Are you ready to go or do you need another minute?” Hermione looked up and saw Ginny with a sly grin on her face.

“I’m ready,” Hermione said to her and turned back to the man still holding her. “I’m going to go now, okay?” She watched Draco nod slightly, and they began to release their arms from around each other.

“Hermione, I love you,” he said as he squeezed her hand in his. In that moment, she saw the future he promised her in his eyes; the wedding in the gardens; the cottage on the hillside; the boy who inherited all the Malfoy traits and the girl with bushier brown hair than she had; the peace they had been waiting for.

“I love you too,” she said, squeezing his hand back. She finally let go and followed her friends out of the courtroom, grateful that the Wizengamot trial ended exactly the way she wanted it to. Now she just needed to get through the Potter and Friends trial, and she had a feeling that this questioning wouldn’t be as forgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is. I left it a little open ended in case I wanted to add to it, but I don’t have any further plans for it. Thanks again for reading!


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